An Adventure in the Desert
This is an admittedly poorly-written story about Jhundormi and her youth. I've made the assumption that independent traders might have done business with the goblins living in parts of Tanaris, as I find it weird that absolutely no humans have found their way to Kalimdor before the events of WC3. An Adventure in the Desert right The sweltering sun beat down on a bright morning in Tanaris. A handful of sailors was marching across the sea of sand to barter with the local goblins, pulling a cart laden with goods and gold. They wouldn't reach their destination, however, as they were ambushed by a band of trolls, slaughtered mercilessly save for one survivor. This survivor was a sixteen-year-old human woman with short golden hair and a deeply-tanned complexion, and she fought fiercely, though this didn't save her from capture. Meanwhile, on a ship anchored off the eastern shore, a middle-aged human mage with prematurely whitened hair sat perusing his collection of tomes as a small imp cavorted about, keeping itself occupied with harmless pranks such as messing with organization and setting books with their bindings inward. The mage didn't seem to take any notice to this, completely engrossed in the current diagram, which was regarding the summoning of a more sturdy breed of demon. It was nearing sunset by the time the young woman awoke, imprisoned in a wooden cage at the top of a pyramid, looking down over a large festival square. There was a skin of water in the cage with her, but that was all. Even her clothing had been taken. These trolls wouldn't be caught off-guard with any makeshift weapons when the time came, and they had obviously wanted her alive. A quick look at the ground around her cage revealed nothing useful as well, not even loose rocks. She was completely helpless and the sun was in the final stages of setting, the orangish red of the sky fading to a blueish black sheet with pinprick lights twinkling. It would be a beautiful moonless night under other conditions. The mage was getting worried by now. It wasn't that far of a trip to the goblins' city, and he had sent his men out in the morning. They should have been back well before sunset. He set to work preparing a scrying orb, imbuing it with a customized enchantment which would allow him to use it as a secondary body. He tossed his orb into the sea and quickly locked himself into his quarters, beginning his spell. Within seconds, his view was tied to his device, rapidly sinking into a tangle of weeds as he oriented himself. Moments later, he was rocketing towards the shore, finding his trading group's dinghy and following the tracks well out into the desert, well past the goblin village that was their destination. Once he had reached the wreckage of his small caravan, he began the grim task of counting the dead and monetary losses. All of the guards had been slain, as well as his trader, and they lay strewn about the sands. Among the dead were also three trolls close by each other, each somehow felled with a single clean strike to the throat, as though they had been caught off-guard. There was also a furrow leading northwest as though something had been dragged through the sand. Naturally, he would follow this trail, hoping that it would stay intact before it was washed away. Unfortunately, the mage had lost the trail to the winds and shifting sands near midnight, when everything faded into an eerie stillness, completely silent save for an occasional night creature's cry. Despite a terrible sense of foreboding, fatigue was beginning to creep up on him. He would rest for a few hours and resume his search at sunrise. The woman woke up, still nude and trussed up like a pig ready to be roasted. She looked upward, toward her bound hands and saw a sand troll grinning down at her, a keen-edged obsidian knife clutched in his hand. The troll spoke, in his native language. "You gwan be a niiice meal for Gahz'rilla. We be startin' da sacrifice at noon. Try not ta die o' fright by den." Naturally, she didn't understand the troll's words, though she thought she understood the intent. She turned her head to get a feel of her surroundings once more. She was tied down on a sort of altar at the head of a flight of stairs which led down into a deep stonework pit filled with water. At the bottom of this pool slept a large white creature that she had seen once or twice before: a hydra of considerable size. She was surrounded by a large gathering of trolls, the majority of which appeared to be clad in ceremonial armor. The mage had somehow navigated his orb to his desired location and began casting a spell to teleport himself there. He was suddenly standing near a gong, looking on with disbelief as a group of trolls cut the woman he was seeking into pieces and fed them to a gigantic white hydra. His shock made way to fury, burning with such intensity that even the most seasoned berserker would cringe. Then, all at once, the mage's fury vanished into a state of complete tranquility. The trolls were too busy with feeding their god-pet to notice that the mage was channeling an incantation. A two-fold spell which would teleport him into the center of the throng and unleash massive torrents of pure elemental fire, fueled by parts of his own soul. He knew he would be slain, but that was preferable to having to see the look on his brother's face when he told him that his only child had died. Suddenly, the mage awakened from his sleep. He was laying in the desert in front of a trollish city of sorts, the sun lazily creeping into peak position in the sky. Rising to his feet, he make his way into the city, finding very little in the way of confrontation. This worried him greatly, so he quickened his pace, pausing briefly as his path split. On an impulse, he turned left, and was rewarded by the sight of a large pool, with a gong set up on the close end and surrounded by trolls. This set the mage into a full-on sprint, skidding to a stop once he had reached the ritual site. Without any hesitation, he hurled a fireball at the nearest troll, and then called down a flamestrike upon the largest group nearby, charring six of them to cinders before the reast even registered the disruption. The head troll looked up to the sky, just as the sun reached peak height. He spoke again in his native tongue, his tone conveying a sense of triumph. "Joo be too late! Dis li'l girl gwan be food!" The girl had finally noticed that things had changed around her, and caught a glimpse of the mage as he was burning his way through the rest of the gathered trolls. "Unca! Hel-" she began to call out to him, but was cut short as the head troll brought his knife down, slicing through the girls throat and pulling the knife downward, the enchanted blade cutting easily through flesh bone and muscle with surgical precision, slicing her chest open wide. The mage had finished incinerating the trolls that hadn't fled, and set his sights on the head troll, who was triumphantly clutching the girl's heart, holding it over his head. He opened his mouth to taunt the mage, but was quickly silenced with a blast of flame incinerating his face. Dropping the heart, he fell backwards clutching his face. It was quickly regenerating, muscles and veins creeping over singed bone as he shrieked in pain and terror. Never before had this troll been dealt such a blow, or any blow at all since he usually had hordes of minions to take care of any invaders. The mage advanced on the troll as he cowered, quite undignified for a leader. Had he not been so intent on making the troll pay for what he had done, the mage would have laughed at the puddle of urine spreading beneath the shaman. Suddenly, a brief smirk crossed the mage's face and he used the toe of his boot to draw a summoning circle in the sand. While keeping an eye on the cowering troll, he withdrew two crystal spheres, using one to ensnare the soul of the cowardly beast, while he tried to coax the soul of his niece into the other before it completely dissipated. It was a longshot chance, he used the summoning circle to conjure forth a succubus. "I have an offer for you, milady." He spoke, mentally examining his request. "I offer you the soul of this... admittedly cowardly troll, as well as temporary - I must stress temporary - residence in this woman's body while she recovers from this little encounter. You will be free to do with as you wish with her, provided you stay within my sight at all times. Of course, if you find yourself unable to accept this offer, I will destroy your physical form and banish your essence to wherever it is your kind comes from." As the succubus pondered the offer, the mage set about gathering up the remains of his niece, setting the wiping sand from the dropped heart and using magical flame to cauterize the wound shut to at least leave her somewhat presentable for burial. "I accept," was the demon's reply, "however there are limits to what is feasible as a suitable vic... er, target for possession." She gestured at the woman's corpse, frowning. "That, is on the very edge of what I would consider, and I doubt that such a possession has been attempted in the past. However, since you have shown an uncanny civility, and a great outpouring of love for this woman, I will attempt the process." The mage nodded once, and cut the rope bindings securing his niece's limbs. Shortly afterwards, the girl's hazel eyes fluttered open, pupils contracting upon contact with the bright noon sun. She sat up, looking like a novice's marionette, jerky and unpracticed in her movements. She looked horrible, her flesh sunburnt and a terrible scar extending from her throat to her navel. She was covered with blood and had a deep gash in her throat, which was merely trickling blood as the majority of that fluid was spilled over the altar she sat upon. The mage was walking the final half mile back to his ship when he had the vague sense of being watched. He turned, and could have sworn he saw a gnome vanishing into the air out of his peripheral vision. With a shrug, he pulled the possessed body of his niece into a more stable position on his back, continuing his trek into the setting sun. Meanwhile, that gnome the mage thought he saw reappeared to watch the mage row back out to his ship. "You were almost seen, Chronormu. And couldn't you have chosen a more appropriate form?" spoke a troll, in a language full of harsh gutteral sounds. "At least I didn't nearly kill the guy, Mal. You're lucky he only thought that was a dream. Why is this one so important anyway? Are you in love or something?" responded Chronormu in the same language, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing the troll with a hint of accusation. Mal, short for Maldormu and a name that bothered him when used by others of his ilk, laughed heartily, retorted with "Well you need all the help you can get in Andorhal. I'm just making sure you have extra bodies to gather pocketwatches for you. And don't forget what happens to the west and up north." With this, Mal vanished, leaving Chronormu to return from whence he came. Category:Stories